


Catbread to the Rescue

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [23]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an invalid is hard on Nick, and Nick is hard on Cody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catbread to the Rescue

"I know the Granada costs less," Murray said, "but if you're going to go around driving into stationary objects, the Volvo's a better choice. Even if it is a little older. Besides, diesel fuel is cheaper."

"Yeah, but it's a friggin' Volvo. I'd be feeling like I was late for the damn PTA or something all the time. What about this Caprice here?" Quinlan pushed the _Auto Trader_ back across the table but Murray hardly glanced at it.

"Right, because nothing says _I'm not a cop anymore_ like a late model Chevy Caprice. If you want one of those, why bother with the _Auto Trader_? We could just go to the police auction and get one with the lights and sirens already on it."

"They take those off before the auction," he muttered, snatching it back. Quinlan liked the Caprice, but he wasn't going to fight about it. Seeing the long diagonal bruise across Murray's chest morning and night made him wary of choosing a new car, as if it being his choice would make him solely to blame for any mishap that might occur with it later. If nothing else, he would buy the Volvo to absolve himself of any future responsibility.

"What about the Buick?" Quinlan asked. "Did you look at that?"

"Which Buick?"

"This eighty-one Century. That's a good, solid car."

Murray edged his chair a little closer and looked over Quinlan's shoulder.

"Yeah, I guess. It doesn't have much style though, does it? You know, maybe we should think about a van. It would be handy when my family comes to visit, and we wouldn't have to borrow a truck when we needed to move something."

"I don't know. Have you ever driven a van? Even the ones with the wrap around windows can be a real bitch to see out of. Backing up, especially around a corner, is taking someone's life in your hands."

"But you always drive anyway. And we could have sex in it. I've heard they're really handy for that, too."

"We have a perfectly good bed for that," Quinlan said, but he was smiling like he was thinking it over. There was a four year old Econoline for fifteen hundred dollars. And Murray was always hauling equipment from the house to the boat and back again. But he knew he couldn't let the kid drive it all the time, and it wasn't fair buying something and putting conditions on his use. "What about this wagon? You can fit a lot of people, and computers, in it and still see pedestrians."

"A Vista Cruiser? I don't know. It's awfully—long, isn't it?"

"It's not any longer than the Econoline."

Murray pulled the magazine a little closer and started flipping through pages again.

"Maybe you were right about the Granada. It's got the V-8, so if you do want to total someone, you'll have the power."

"Come on, you know those were—what you do call it—extenuating circumstances. It's not like I go around crashing cars on purpose every day. And it's a standard transmission. Can you even work a clutch?"

"Of course I can. I mean, I understand the basic principles, and I've driven Nick's car a few times. With varying degrees of success, I admit, but I'm sure I just need practice."

"Yeah, the Granada would be a safer vehicle for practicing. But with the V-8 it's still gonna be powerful. That's the big problem with the Century. Put a V-6 in a tank like that, and you've got a car that can't get up a thirty degree slope at more than twenty-five miles an hour."

"Well, we don't want that. But good use of geometry, Lieutenant. I must be rubbing off on you."

"You don't have to," he said, positively leering. "I'll rub you off any time you want."

Murray blushed and Quinlan was tempted to throw the magazine aside and make a move on him right then. Only the ringing phone stopped him.

"I'll get it," Murray said. "And then you can call the Granada guy. We may as well look at it." They'd had Cody's Jimmy for the better part of a week, and he wanted to give it back before something happened to it.

"Hello? Oh, hi, Cody. Gosh, I was just thinking about you," he said happily. "I was going to call and—what?" His smile disappeared and he began gesturing to Quinlan to get up. "What did you—slow down. Oh. Oh no. Okay, just hang on. No, it's okay. It's okay, Cody, we're coming. Tell him—oh. Okay, five minutes." He hung up and ran to the bedroom to dress. They'd eaten breakfast in their robes and slippers, as they had most mornings since Quinlan quit his job, and lingered over the _Auto Trader_ well past the normal time for dressing.

"Hey, what's going on?" Quinlan called, following him to the bedroom.

"It's Nick. He tried to get out of bed by himself, and he fell and now he won't let Cody help him. I guess they were already fighting and now he's lying on the floor in their cabin being stubborn. Cody's freaking out and Nick wouldn't let him call anyone else."

Murray struggled into his clothes as he spoke, putting on mismatched socks and skipping a couple of buttons on his shirt. Quinlan made him slow down and fixed the buttons for him, deliberately leaving the top two open just because he liked it. He dressed himself quickly, put on his old tan jacket and handed Murray the more fashionable denim one that he'd gotten for him. Murray liked it well enough to wear it if it pleased Ted, but beyond that he was indifferent.

"Wouldn't let him? If he's on the floor, he can't stop him, can he?" Quinlan said reasonably, grabbing the keys as they headed out the door.

"You know better than that. If Cody goes against him now, it'll just make things worse. How would you feel if you were helpless and I brought people in against your will?"

"Depends on why. I might admit you were right, or I might never trust you again."

"Well, Nick will never admit he's wrong. I don't even know what we can do if he's that angry, but Cody's scared. Maybe we can help _him_, at least."

It took less than two minutes to drive over to the pier. They ran down to the boat, climbed over the rail, and entered through the salon without stopping to knock. In the aft cabin, they found Cody standing by the door staring balefully at Nick, who was lying on the floor by the bed, staring defiantly back.

Murray started to speak and Quinlan could feel the sympathy building in the air. But sympathy wasn't going to get this fixed.

"What are you doing, Ryder?" he asked sharply.

"Checking the nap on the rug. What does it look like?"

"It looks like you pissed yourself, and now you're making things as hard as you can for everyone else."

"You go to hell, Quinlan," he snapped back. Nick had been trying to get up because he needed the head desperately and was tired of using the urinal jug. Whizzing in a bottle was humiliating, although admittedly not so much so as pissing in his pants on the floor. If he had it to do over again, he'd certainly do it differently, but that wasn't an option in this world.

"And then who's gonna help you? After you've chased us all off, what next?"

"I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Now wait a minute," Cody said. "Fighting isn't going to solve anything. Ted, if you don't want to help—"

"Is there any coffee?" Quinlan interrupted.

"What?"

"Coffee. You and Murray should go have some."

"What?" he said again, but Murray was already gripping his arm.

"Come on, Cody. It's all right. He wouldn't say it if it wasn't."

Cody wondered if his friend's faith in the lieutenant wasn't stretching a little bit here, but he'd been trying to get Nick off the floor for twenty minutes with no success. He let Murray drag him out and close the door behind them.

"What are you planning to do now?" Nick asked. He couldn't take his eyes off the bruise on Quinlan's forehead, and the evidence of his sacrifice was only making things worse. "Going to stand there and laugh at me?"

"For Christ's sake, Ryder. You think I came over here for that?"

"Then what…?"

Quinlan crouched down beside him and helped him sit up, easing one indignity to start with.

"I know what's going on here. You're Mister Macho and I appreciate that. So if you don't want your boyfriend or the skinny geek that you _think_ you're tougher than seeing you like this, that makes sense to me. But the fact is, you can't spend the rest of your life on the floor, or even the next five weeks."

"Two."

"Do I give a shit? Face it, Ryder. You need help from somebody and you got three choices. You already shot down Cody, and I doubt Murray's strong enough, so that leaves me. You willing to take it, or do you want a minute to think? I could always go get a cup of coffee myself."

"You're a real son of a bitch, LT."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"You're gonna make me say it?"

"Not if you put it that way. You still need to piss or are you good?"

"I really hate you right now."

"I know you do. So I guess that means you ain't done." Quinlan reached around him to get the urinal from the bottom of the nightstand, ignoring the pointed way Nick averted his face. "Too bad you weren't sleeping naked, isn't it?"

"Gets cold at night," Nick said shortly. "And the blankets get tangled up on my cast."

"It's a hard old world," he agreed and slipped his arm around Nick's waist. He lifted as Nick pushed off with his good leg and they worked his sweatpants down to his thighs.

"Can I have some privacy, at least?"

"All you want," he said and went to stand outside the door. Cody called down from the salon to ask if everything was okay and Quinlan told him it was, and that he should wait a little longer. Then he went into the head and got two towels, soaked one in hot water, and took them back to the cabin where Nick sat screwing the cap on the urinal.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" Quinlan said, dropping the wet towel in his lap. "Clean yourself up. You don't want to get back in bed like that, do you?"

"I don't want to get back in bed at all," he said sourly, but went to work washing and drying himself while the lieutenant finished getting his pants off. After that it went a lot faster. Nick was more cooperative in the matter of putting on clean boxers, and with Quinlan's help, he got up on one foot and into bed.

"You want a shirt?"

"No, I—Cody'll help me when he comes back."

"Okay. Is there anything else you need before I go? You want to curse or hit someone or something? Because if you do, you're better off getting it out now. Cody's too easy a target, and besides, you need him. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know. Look, LT, I'm sorry. I—I never meant to start all this, I just—it's so frustrating. I'm a pilot and I'm trapped underwater here, you know? And the way he skulks around, being nice, acting guilty, like it's his fault for not getting hurt too, or instead, or something, and I don't know how to handle that. It's not his fault, it's mine. He should be furious and he keeps apologizing."

"Welcome to my life, Ryder."

"I guess you know what I'm talking about, huh?"

"Yep. You need to take it out on someone and you got a nice guy handy, one that would rather chew his own arm off than hurt you, so you're free to dump all over him. But it's bullshit and you know it. This is gonna be over soon, and you want him to still be here, right?"

"He'll always be here."

"Maybe. But maybe he won't always want to be. I'm telling you, don't take anything for granted. If there's one lesson you can learn from an old man, it's that one. Not a lot of people are gonna love you, no matter what you do or how long you live, and you're goddamn lucky to _ever_ find one who loves you as much as he does. Don't fuck it up."

"I know. I know it, and I'm going to do better. Starting with not being such a huge pain in the ass."

"Good man. You want me to get him, or do you want a few minutes?"

"Give me ten minutes, would you? And could you tell him not to apologize? It'll just piss me off again. But maybe don't tell him that part."

"You got it."

"And, LT, thanks for—"

"Yeah, whatever. It's over, okay? Forget it."

Quinlan left without touching him again, leaving the illusion that nothing had changed. Nick watched him go, puzzled and relieved, hoping they could both keep their word.

"Is he okay?" Cody asked as soon as he saw Quinlan on the stairs.

"He's fine. Come down to the galley and get me some coffee."

"There's a pot up here."

"I can see that, Allen, I'm not blind. But I want to drink it in the galley."

The three of them went down together and Quinlan sipped his coffee at the table, letting some time pass before he started talking. As soon as he was done, Cody would want to go to Nick, and he needed to use up as near to ten minutes as he could.

"Did he say anything?"

"Yeah, he said for you to stop apologizing. It's not your fault, you know. None of it is."

"I know. I just don't know what else to say."

"There's nothing you need to say. He's a pilot underwater. He said that, too, and you can't fix it. All you can do is put up with _him_ while he puts up with _it_, and sometimes that's gonna mean leaving him alone. You need to protect yourself a little. Murray's offered to sit with him while you go out. You should take him up on it once in a while. Do you both a lot of good."

"Maybe," he said doubtfully. "I just don't want to stick Murray with something that I can't handle myself. Besides, what if something happened like today? Could you handle that, Boz?"

"Maybe not, but Ted can. And you _can_ handle it, just maybe not twenty-four hours a day. I'd be happy to hang out for two or three hours while you go to the store, or even just work on deck. It looks like there are some things that need doing out there right now."

"Maybe," he said again. "But it's—he's my partner. He's my responsibility."

"He's an adult," Quinlan said simply. "He's responsible for himself. Look, Cody, I know how you feel. I've been through it, remember? And how much did you help when Murray was sick? Sitting with him in the hospital so I could eat, coming over to the house and reading to him—you know we never would have made it alone."

"Yes, you would," Cody sighed. "You guys aren't like us. Murray isn't stubborn and intractable, and you have the patience of a saint where he's concerned. You two have been together a year and a half now and how many serious arguments have you had?"

They looked at each other and Murray asked him to define serious.

"Something you couldn't patch up on your own in two hours or less."

"Oh," Murray said with a shy smile. "I think one. The day Ted resigned and we ended up here. Other than that, we don't really fight."

"How is that possible? I don't think I've ever met two people so completely different from each other as you guys. Honestly, no offense meant, but when you first moved in together, we thought it was going to last a month, tops."

Murray blushed and Quinlan sipped his coffee, leaving it for him to answer.

"I think it's _because_ we're different. We're both independent, so I can work alone all day while he does whatever it is he does, and we get together for meals and the eight o'clock testosterone movie on channel twelve."

"What is it you do all day, Ted? When you're not working on our cases, that is?"

"Different stuff," he shrugged. "I'm catching up on my reading, and I just built a fence for the girls next door. The landlord's gonna give us a break on the rent if I paint the house. I want to get that done before Thanksgiving, if I can."

"So you're keeping busy. That's good."

"And he's talking to Andy Parker about the hobby shop, too," Murray added.

"Hey, that's great. You should sell those ship-in-a-bottle kits. I've never been able to get him to carry those."

"If I do, you'll have to buy 'em. But you ought to go check on Nick now. And remember what I said: don't apologize anymore. Not until you actually do something wrong."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Ted." He put his whale mug in the sink and disappeared up the stairs.

"I'm really glad you came," Murray said quietly. "They get angry and they hurt each other so much without ever meaning it—I've never been able to stop them without getting involved and making it worse."

"It's too personal for you. Nick just needs his ass kicked once in a while. He's stubborn, like I was at his age. He doesn't know yet how much it costs. But he will if he loses all this, and then it'll be too late."

"What did it cost you?"

"Everything. You saw what I was like. I didn't have anything and I was pissed as hell about it, knowing it was all my fault. If he loses Cody, it'll be like that, only worse."

"Worse than everything?"

"His everything is better than mine was. I lost Lorna, but I found you. Nick ain't gonna do better than Allen if he looks his whole life. They belong together."

"That's—gosh, Lieutenant, that's so sweet. I never guessed you were so perceptive about people."

"Cops usually are," he shrugged. "I just do a real good job hiding it, being an asshole and all."

"Oh. Well, we're all pretty lucky, then, because if you hadn't taken over in there, I don't know what would have happened."

"They'd have worked it out somehow. Cody just needed to take his nuts back and do the right thing, and he would have. He just might have needed to get a little more desperate first."

"They're lucky to have you, then," Murray smiled.

"Today, I guess. You about done with that? I want to call the Granada guy and see if we can go over there before lunch."

"Oh, sure." Murray poured out his coffee and rinsed the mug, falling easily back into Cody's ways. "We should check on them first, though, don't you think? Just to be sure everything's all right?"

"If you want."

Quinlan waited in the salon while Murray down to the cabin and knocked on the door. Cody called for him to come in, and he was satisfied by what he saw. They were on the bed, Cody helping Nick into a button-up shirt, and both were smiling.

"We're going to take off now. Ted's found a car to look at, and if we buy it, we'll bring the Jimmy back this afternoon."

"That's fine, Boz," Cody said. "You guys have fun."

"Yeah," Nick seconded. "And if you really don't mind, maybe you could bring me something from the library later. A Tom Clancy or something. Cody needs to hit the grocery store anyway."

"Sure, no problem. Whatever happens with the car, we'll come back this afternoon." He was pleased to get away with no more mention of what had brought them here. It felt normal, the tension that had permeated the cabin gone much more quickly than it must have taken to build. Murray left them knowing they would be okay for a while, and determined to be there to run interference before they started getting on each other's nerves again.

***

The Granada was well maintained and overpowered, an eight cylinder engine in a six cylinder car, and Quinlan bought it after only a perfunctory test drive. He thought it might need a brake job and made a mental note to take care of that before Murray drove it much, but if that was the worst thing you could say about a used Granada, you were very lucky.

Murray drove the Jimmy back to the pier and Quinlan followed him. They didn't go down to the boat this time, though, and Murray kept the keys, knowing Cody wouldn't go anywhere before they came back. Then they went to the library to pick out books for Nick. Murray had a lot of fun with that, ending up with a huge stack of everything from spy thrillers to biographies of famous pilots. Surely there was something there that Nick would like, and he would draw on that to choose better next time.

Quinlan carried the books for him, smiling to himself at the sudden memory of Korina Pascua, his sophomore year crush and the last person he'd ever willingly carried books for. But she never let him get past second base, so Murray was, once again, the better investment. He piled the books in the back seat and suggested they have lunch before going back to the pier.

"Ooh, can we go to that new Indian place? I've had a craving for curry lately. Curry and peanut chicken," Murray said, almost dreamily. "I wonder who first figured out that chicken and peanuts went together."

"I don't know, kid. I'm from Alabama, remember? All poor folks eat down there is peanuts and chicken."

"Are you really from there?" he asked, getting into the car. "I know you said your mom was, but you never talk about it and you don't have an accent."

"We moved out here when I was twelve, after my old man died. Kids at school thought I was a hick so I lost the accent as quick as I could." Quinlan answered readily enough, but something in his expression had suddenly closed off, as if Murray were getting within shouting distance of the place where the answers would stop.

Murray put on his seatbelt and thought it over. He still got excited when things interested him, still asked too many questions and occasionally went into geeky hysterics over scientific journals, but not nearly as often as he used to. Quinlan's calm demeanor and sardonic eye had taken a lot of the excessive enthusiasm out of him, although the love was always there.

"I didn't realize accents could be overcome so easily," he said at last.

"Didn't say it was easy. Anyway, you're from the Midwest and you don't have one."

"Oh. Well, I guess not. My roommate at MIT was from Washington and I kind of imitated him a little. He was great. Older than me, of course, but a really boss guy. I was always trying to talk like him, and I guess the Midwest sort of went away."

"Yeah? I thought you didn't have a lot of friends in college."

"Well, I had that one." This time it was Murray's face that closed off, his eyes going far away.

"And…?" he said after a moment.

"His dad was a line officer and he wanted his son to follow in his footsteps, so when I went to Baltimore, he went to Vietnam. He didn't come back."

"Oh."

There was a long silence and then Murray spoke again.

"Did you miss Alabama?"

"No," he said shortly. Then, "I'm sorry about your friend."

"You must have lost a lot more than I did," Murray shrugged.

"Does it make it easier for you if I did?"

"Not really." He was quiet for a moment, until he saw that Quinlan was going to speak, and then went on in a rush. "Lieutenant, I really appreciate you helping Nick today. That—that can't be easy for you."

"It's not hard. I kind of think of those guys as your family. Doing things for them is the same as doing things for you."

"I hope you're not saying that taking off Nick's clothes is the same as taking off mine."

"You know I don't mean that. But if they ain't happy, you ain't happy, and I want you to be happy. Besides, there's nothing wrong with him owing me a favor for a change."

***

Murray ate his curry peanut chicken with good appetite and by the time they left the restaurant, he had forgotten all about accents and MIT. They drove back to the pier, found a parking space not too far from the slip, and divided the books between them. Quinlan took the heavier share and, when they reached the boat, took Murray's as well, so he didn't drop them in the harbor while climbing over the rail.

They found Cody still in the cabin with Nick, both men sleeping under the covers. The way they were curled up together told Murray plainer than words that the morning's argument was behind them, and he gestured for Quinlan to put the books down without waking them. The lieutenant tried, but a hardcover biography slid off the nightstand and hit the floor with a thump that made Cody leap up, wide eyed with fear. But it vanished when he saw his friends, morphing rapidly into endearing shyness. Nick just snorted in his sleep and tried to turn over. The pain in his shoulder stopped him, and he settled back without waking.

Cody eased out of bed, naked except for his shorts, and reached for his jeans, blushing just a little. Murray turned immediately for the door and Quinlan followed. Cody caught up to them on the stairs.

"I'm sorry, that's just the best he's slept since he came home."

"No, that's good," Murray whispered. "We shouldn't have barged in like that. I should have called, or at least knocked."

"No, that would have woken him. I'd rather be embarrassed than ruin his nap." Cody saw a t-shirt on the bench in the salon and put in on hurriedly while Murray blushed and Quinlan looked amused.

"Is he doing better?" Quinlan asked with an almost straight face.

"Yeah. He apologized for this morning; told me to tell you thanks and that he wouldn't forget it."

"I hope he'll remember the right parts," the lieutenant shrugged. He didn't care about being thanked; he just wanted Nick to keep in mind who his friends were.

"Well, he didn't tell me much about it, so I don't know. I did promise him that if he was good, we'd try to get him up on deck this evening. He really wants to go outside. I thought maybe we could make it a weekly thing."

"We could probably do that. If he can swallow his pride long enough, we could carry him in a blanket or something. I'm not going to be responsible for him hopping up the stairs."

Cody shivered and shook his head, obviously agreeing.

"Before we worry about that, I need to go to the store. There's no food in the galley at all and having to eat oatmeal for breakfast is probably what got him so cranky in the first place. Can you guys stay a while? He's had his painkillers, so he'll sleep another hour at least."

"Yes, of course," Murray said at once. "Here, I have your keys, and we filled the gas tank for you."

"Great. So you bought the car?" He sounded relieved to have something ordinary to talk about, and Quinlan described the Granada in somewhat more glowing terms that it probably deserved.

"How much trouble did you get into with your insurance company?"

"Not too much. My rates are going up some, but you can expect that after you ram another car on purpose."

"At least they didn't drop you."

"I've been a good customer for a lot of years," he shrugged, but he couldn't help grinning. "So, do you think I should stick around? Nick might not want to see me right now."

Cody wondered again what had happened between them that morning but didn't ask.

"Yeah, I'd—I think I'd feel better if you did. He's pretty heavy, and stubborn, and if Nick gives Murray a hard time, he might need backup."

"Yeah, I was kinda thinking that, too."

Murray was torn between being grateful and offended and so said nothing.

"Great. I'll just keep out of the way, then. I left a book in the car. Murray, you want me to bring yours in?"

"Yes, please. Cody, should I sit with Nick? I mean, if I stay up here, will I hear him?"

"Maybe, but he won't know you're here. Stick close to him, okay? He's feeling pretty vulnerable and he needs to know he isn't alone."

"Okay. Is there anything I need to know or do? Will he need medication or special food or anything?"

"No. Well, medication, maybe, but he'll ask. And if he wants anything to eat or drink, just give it to him. He can even have a beer if he wants, but just one. You could tell him, though, that since we're having supper on deck, he might want to save it until then."

"Okay. Can I help with anything else? It looks like you've gotten a little behind on the cleaning."

"No, you'd better just stay close to Nick. But thanks a lot, Boz. I really appreciate this."

"I'm happy to help. I haven't been around much, and you guys have done so much for me lately…" He trailed off and Cody clapped him on the shoulder without arguing. He wanted to tell Murray that it was okay, that any debt had been paid off during the Henderson case, but Murray hated to be reminded of that. It wouldn't make him feel any better, no matter how grateful Cody was.

"Don't worry about it, buddy. That's what family's for, right?"

Murray did like to be reminded of that, and his pensive expression changed to a happy smile. He waited in the salon while Cody and Quinlan went outside, watching them through the window as they climbed the gangway. He liked seeing them walking close together, talking about something, probably cars, Quinlan gesturing extravagantly and Cody throwing his head back in a hearty laugh. Nick and Cody were his brothers, and maybe they were coming to see Quinlan as a brother, too. He certainly hoped so.

Quinlan was back a few minutes later with their books, a Joseph Heller novel for him, and a physics treatise with an unpronounceable title that Murray had ordered from back East. But when Murray went down below to sit on the floor by the bed and read, Quinlan laid his book aside and began picking up the salon. There were newspapers and dirty dishes everywhere, and when he carried the dishes down to the galley, he found it in even worse shape. In all the years he'd known the guys, all the times he'd been aboard the boat, he'd never seen it such a mess. He went on collecting dishes, and when he thought he had them all, washed them and put them away. It wasn't as much fun as washing dishes with Murray, and there wouldn't be any incredibly hot sex in the forward cabin when he was done, but he could sacrifice a little bit for family.

When the dishes were done, he bagged the trash and carried it up to the dumpsters. As he was heading back, he met Mama Jo on the gangway.

"What are you up to, Teddy?" she asked, raising one eyebrow. "Haven't seen you around for a while."

"I've been around," he said, smiling sardonically and being deliberately vague. "Cody needed to get away for a while, so the kid and I are minding the store."

"And you're cleaning up. Big of you, Teddy."

"What are you giving me shit for, JoJo? You live here. Why weren't you and your girls helping out?"

"Who do you think's been keeping 'em fed all week? I'd have cleaned up, too, but Nick's been real funny about having people on board. Doesn't want anyone seeing him stuck in bed, is my guess. That boy always did have more pride than he needed."

"He still does. But I gotta get back. Murray's with him, and I promised to stick close in case they need me."

"You're really taking them in, aren't you? Or are they taking you in?"

"Little bit of both," he said, and this time his smile was almost sweet.

***

Murray sat on the floor and read his book until Nick woke.

"Cody's not back?" he muttered.

"Not yet. Can I get you something? Do you want a glass of water?"

"Yeah, please. And maybe some Tylenol? I don't want that prescription stuff anymore."

"Sure. Is it still in the galley?"

"I think so. Or else in the head."

Murray got a glass of ice water from the galley, but couldn't find the Tylenol. He stopped to look in the head and found Quinlan there, mopping the floor.

"There you are, Lieutenant. What are you doing?"

"What's it look like?"

Murray smiled and poked around in the medicine cabinet until he found the bottle.

"Thanks, Lieutenant. The place looks really great. Cody will be so happy."

"That's all I want out of life," he said dryly, but Murray could tell that he was pleased. He took the water and Tylenol to Nick, and asked if he could do anything else.

"Can you help me turn over? My back's killing me."

"Won't it hurt?"

"Probably, but it'll be okay. Just get me on my right side and put a pillow under my cast."

"Okay, but—should I get Ted? He's a lot better at this kind of thing than I am."

Nick thought that over a minute, weighing the possible humiliation against the possible pain, and finally agreed. Murray got Quinlan, who had just finished mopping, and together they worked it out. Nick levered himself up a few inches on his right elbow and Quinlan slipped his hands under him, easing him back and over while Murray shifted his legs. It took a few minutes to fix the pillows and get him settled, but when they were done, he smiled and thanked them like he meant it.

"It's no problem," Murray said, shyly pleased. "But you look like you're still in pain. Is there anything else we can do? Ice packs or heating pads, or maybe I could rub your back?"

Nick wanted to refuse, but that last sounded so good, he put all of his objections aside and agreed. Murray perched on the edge of the bed and steadied Nick with one hand on his side as he felt over the tight muscles of his back and shoulders. The first time he applied any pressure, Nick moaned and leaned back into his hands.

"Careful, Ryder," Quinlan said, his tone somewhere between teasing and not. "Don't enjoy him too much. I'm the jealous type, you know."

"You should be," Nick sighed. "He's good. Murray, how come you lived here for two and a half years and I didn't know you could do this?"

"Cody always did it for you," he shrugged. "I would have if you'd asked."

Nick wasn't sure if he should feel bad about that or not. There had been times when he'd come close to asking, when he was hurting and Cody was away, or busy, or had already been doing it too long, but knowing how Murray felt about him had complicated things. He told himself he didn't want to lead his friend on, but that wasn't all of it. He also didn't want to know what those nimble, expressive hands might feel like, lest they lead him into temptation. They were a little bit tempting, even now.

The spell was broken by the sound of Cody's footsteps overhead. Murray got up, pretending not to hear Nick's disappointed sigh, and told Quinlan they should go bring in the groceries. Cody was in the salon when they got there, and he was more than happy to dump his bags on them and go check on Nick. They carried the load down to the galley and Murray began putting things away. He hadn't been gone so long that he didn't remember where they went.

Quinlan went back to the car for more, not speaking until he'd brought everything in. Murray was humming one of his little work songs, probably something from that Staring at the Sea record that Quinlan didn't understand, and it was all he could do not to snap at him to stop. Instead, he started unpacking bags, putting perishables in the fridge and leaving the rest for Murray, who suddenly seemed too comfortable here in his old home.

"You were kidding before, right?" Murray asked suddenly. "You're not really jealous, are you?"

"No," he said, too shortly to be believed.

"Lieutenant—"

Quinlan grabbed him abruptly, cutting off his words, and shoved him back against the sink, forcing his legs apart with one practiced knee and kissing him fiercely. Murray had felt that knee on many occasions, both official and romantic, and didn't even consider arguing with it. He wrapped his arms around the stocky body and held on, giving back as good as he got, until Quinlan saw fit to let him go.

"You are jealous," Murray said placidly, turning back to the groceries. "That's just silly, you know. If there was ever someone you didn't have to be jealous over, it would be me."

"I don't like seeing you touch other men," he muttered, not adding the obvious _younger, better looking men_. "I think you were making him start to regret some of his past decisions."

"The only thing he regrets is jumping on Dennis Burke's Datsun, and that doesn't have anything to do with me. Trust me, Lieutenant, if you think I'm sexy, you're the only one."

"Don't kid yourself," he said, squeezing Murray's ass when he turned away again.

"I think you misspoke just now. I think you _do_ like seeing me touch other men."

"What I'd like is to take you home and fuck you for about an hour and a half."

"Okay. Just let me finish this first." He spoke in that same even, businesslike tone, but his brown eyes twinkled mischievously and Quinlan's half-hard cock gave an insistent twitch.

"You could do so much better," he said softly.

"Not in this world, Lieutenant. Where else would I find someone to put up with my geeky talk, and my erratic work hours, and my stubborn, domineering friends? You're the love of my life, Ted."

"All that means is your life's real unfair."

"I don't know. I like it pretty well." He put the last box in the cupboard and turned around, catching Quinlan's face in his hands, running his thumb lightly over the scar by his eye. "I love you, Lieutenant. You make every part of my life better. I don't know why I even have to explain that."

"Because it doesn't make any sense. But I ain't gonna argue." He kissed Murray once more, softly now, and then pulled away. "We said we'd help out a while longer. Nick wants to go up on deck, remember?"

"Right, I forgot. It looks like Cody's planning on steak for supper. Could you put the potatoes in the oven?"

They had it well underway by the time Cody came down to get started. The potatoes were baking and Murray was making the salad so it would be done by the time the steaks went under the broiler.

"Oh, hey, Boz, you didn't need to do all this," he said, but the appreciation was evident.

"It's all right, I wanted to. How's Nick?"

"Good. He's good. He still wants to go outside, though. Can you guys stay for supper and help us out?"

"Sure, of course," Murray said, not even looking to Quinlan for confirmation. So that was how they came to be eating steak and cheesy baked potatoes up on deck in the afternoon sun. Nick was bundled in the blanket they'd carried him up in, supported by piles of pillows in a long lounge chair, grinning indulgently as Cody cut his steak for him. He drew the line at letting Cody feed him, but he drew it pleasantly, and was rewarded with a bottle of beer. He even consented to being taken back to bed as the sun went down, sleepy but not cranky for a change.

Quinlan helped Cody settle him again, gave Murray a minute to say goodnight, and left before they could think about thanking him again.

"He's sure in a hurry," Cody laughed when they were gone.

"Yeah, well, he has to stay up for at least an hour and a half," Nick grinned.

"That's Murray for you. He remembers everything about this boat except how sound travels through the vents. And poor Ted—he probably never knew."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to tell him. He's messed up enough as it is."

***

Fifteen minutes later and six blocks away, Quinlan had Murray spread-eagle on the bed, a firm pillow in the small of his back to hold his hips up. Murray had given up his balance of power ideas for good, submitting joyfully to his lover's mouth on his cock, letting Quinlan dominate him by allowing him to do whatever he wanted, even if it made the lieutenant look submissive. He dug his hands into Quinlan's hair, able to wind it around his fingers a little now that the lieutenant had let it grow.

The strong suction and active tongue had him moaning steadily, trying not to thrust, needing it to last. When he felt a cool, slick finger teasing his entrance, he flinched away, pulling Quinlan's hair sharply enough to make him raise his head.

"What's wrong now, babe?"

"Don't—don't do that."

"Don't do what?" he asked, still circling and teasing as Murray trembled.

"Don't—don't stretch me this time."

"What?"

"I don't want that. I want to—to be tight for you."

Quinlan exhaled sharply as if he'd been hit in the chest, and whatever blood was left in his brain immediately departed for points south. He had just enough sense left to press his finger inside, holding Murray's hips down with his other hand.

"You're talking crazy, even for you," he whispered, but a part of him was shamefully intrigued. "You're plenty tight, no matter what I do. Any more, and it'd hurt like hell."

"No, I don't think so. Please, Ted. Let me do this for you."

There was a brief silence as Quinlan's hand slid down from his hip to cup his testicles and Murray thrust helplessly into it. The finger inside him crooked gently and stroked his sensitive gland, but if it was intended to change his mind, it failed.

"Please, Ted, just fuck me." He propped himself up on one elbow and reached out, wrapping one long, graceful hand around Ted's weeping cock. "Please," he whispered, and that was all it took.

Quinlan took the tube of gel and squeezed it over the head of his shaft in neat concentric circles, layering it on thick, like a baker making icing flowers. He gripped the base in one hand and Murray's bony hip in the other, holding him still as he nudged against him.

"You tell me if it hurts," he said shakily, and pressed the head inside when Murray nodded.

A spasm of pain crossed the thin face, but the sound he made was pure pleasure. Quinlan took a long time, slowly pressing the thick crown past the hard ring of muscle, stroking Murray's cock to distract him. When he got two inches in, he pulled back just a little, spreading the slickness, and Murray groaned, so low and dirty that he almost came right then. He paused, took a deep breath, and pushed again, his heart pounding so hard that Murray could feel it inside him.

"Oh, fuck," he sighed. "Murray, baby—so good. So tight, baby—does it hurt? Tell me …"

"No, don't stop. Please, Ted, let me give you this. Please, just take me."

The low, breathy voice, so different from Murray's usual high pitched tone, twisted his guts and made it impossible to keep arguing. But he managed to go slow, pressing forward a half inch at a time, not always making progress after each gentle retreat. It was the first time he'd ever tried to spread the tight passage without using his hand and it surprised him that it was both so good and so difficult. Murray was writhing, trying to force him deeper, and resisting that was the hardest part. Trying not to hear the eager moans, closing his eyes to the sheen of sweat that covered the thin body before him, only served to focus his attention more firmly on the heat enveloping his painfully hard cock.

"Easy, baby, don't…" he groaned, tugging at Murray's erection, making him thrust upward and away, but touching him made his muscles clench and Ted didn't know which was worse.

"Oh, cheater," Murray sighed, torn between the talented hand and the thick shaft that was so close to his gland.

"We'll get there," Quinlan said. "Just—just be patient."

He kept pushing it, half inch by half inch, and it gradually got easier as Murray stretched and relaxed around him. Both of them were sweating and shaking when he finally touched Murray's prostate, wrenching a cry of agonized pleasure from the submissive man. But he wasn't so submissive after all; he'd gotten what he wanted. Quinlan withdrew most of the way and slid back in with one long, slow motion. He struck Murray's tender gland again, his thrusts growing harder, smoother, and they swiftly established a rhythm that had them both frantic and straining for more.

Quinlan remembered the first time, how wonderfully tight his lover had been, but this was better. He felt like a virgin but he didn't act like one, bucking and sobbing, clenching his muscles for Ted's benefit as he stroked his own leaking cock. It crossed Ted's mind that he should be jerking that thick shaft himself, that he probably owed it to the man who was giving him so much, but he was enthralled by the sight of those skilled and graceful fingers. He thought about that hand on his own cock, and for just a second his steady thrusts faltered. Murray groaned and, as if reading his mind, slid one hand over his balls and further down, letting his fingertips graze Quinlan's flesh where they joined together.

"Oh, _fuck_," Ted growled, already starting to come. He drove deeper, harder, managing to make himself grab hold of Murray's erection before it was too late. Murray gave a strangled cry and came in Quinlan's hand, his spasming muscles milking the last pulse from the softening cock within him.

"Oh, fuck," he said again, breathlessly, and Murray laughed. Quinlan pulled the pillow out from under him and laid himself down on Murray's body, kissing him tenderly. Normally this was the part where he rolled away, but this time he didn't want to withdraw until he had to. Right now, being together was the most important thing in the world.

"You have a bad day, Lieutenant?" Murray asked, nuzzling his throat.

"It had its moments," he said simply. "Come take a shower with me."

That was a surprise, but Murray didn't need to be asked twice.

"What's on your mind?" he ventured a few minutes later, watching Quinlan relax under the hot spray.

"Nothing."

"Something. Come on, Lieutenant, I know you. What's going on?"

"Nick, all right?" he said shortly. "Seeing him broken down like that was—hard. Made me think about getting old and being a burden on you."

"You could never be a burden," Murray said, shampooing Quinlan's thinning hair while the lieutenant hurriedly scrubbed himself. "You could break every bone in your body and I'd enjoy taking care of you. Well, I wouldn't enjoy you being in pain or anything, but the captive audience might be fun. I'd hand feed you little delicacies and give you blow jobs when you couldn't sleep. I love you, Ted. Now lean back so I can rinse."

"I will get old before you, though. There'll be less sex and less hair—probably break a hip in the bathtub and you'll be tied down to a goddamn invalid in the prime of your life."

"We've been together a year and a half and you're only just thinking of this now?" Murray asked, trying to laugh it off.

"I always thought you'd leave me before it went this far."

"Well, I'm not going to. You're tough and strong and you'll age gracefully, I'm sure." Murray began shampooing his own hair while Quinlan soaped a cloth and washed him with gentle efficiency. "Anyway, I could always die first. Chas Bowman could have killed me very easily. So could Greg Henderson, for that matter. If he'd been looking at me instead of at the car when I raised my gun—I was too close to miss."

"I wish you'd give it up," Quinlan said softly, his hands beginning to move slower.

"What? Give what up?"

"The agency. Being a private detective. You don't need it, you know. You'd make more money just doing your computer shit, and—and you'd be safer."

"Oh, Ted," he whispered, abandoning the shampooing to hug his lover close. "I didn't know you felt that way. I mean, I knew you worried, but I didn't know you actually wanted me to quit. I—I don't know what to say. The guys need me; it would probably be the end of the agency if I left."

"I know," he said, his words muffled against Murray's shoulder. "And I'm not asking you to. I won't do that. It's just how I feel, and when you talk about dying on the job, I can't always hold it in."

"That's how I felt about you being a cop," Murray said. "I never thought you'd retire before I did."

They stood there for a long time, warmed by the water, surrounded by steam, enjoying the feel of wet skin and strong arms. In the backs of both their minds was the image of Nick, a pilot underwater, broken and stripped of all his dignity. But there was also Cody, loving and supporting him, making it okay. Somehow, no matter what happened, Murray knew they would be the same.


End file.
